Glorious day today, and I was able to take a long bike ride and actually stop and pick (and eat) some juicy blackberries. I am more of an eater than a picker or a collector. I think that those who search for hours for enough blackberries to bake something out of them (like cobbler) are making a sad and tragic mistake. Blackberries are never better than the moment you pick them, no matter how much butter, sugar and baking skill you might add, they are never better than when they are warmed and juicy from the sun. Today I found some that were like the size of pineaples. Not kidding.
I must at this time record that I do love my cobbler making brothers and sisters. I am inclined to say they are missing the point, but I acknowledge that perhaps I am missing theirs.
As usual, I am thinking of Sam and Cyrus constantly. How do I get them to experience everything I see, how do I share with them fresh blackberries found on the side of a bike path? Not possible. Though I never could or will be able to get them to experience things as I do, it's the things that we experience together that are so precious. They are ours, they make us us.
I believe that there are different kinds of blackberry pickers. In addition to the fresh v. cobbler dichotomy, there are those that only pick the berries on the outside and never say "Ouch!", those that try their best to get as far in as possible and say,"Ouch!" then pause their picking to examine their wound and reevaluate their mission and desire for the juiciest of the berries, and those that say,"Ouch!" with a berry in their mouth and another on the way. I eat them as fast as I can and get to as many as possible without putting myself into a situation that will result in traumatic orthopedic injury (blackberries so often grow on slopes). The scratches really aren't important. They are part of the juiciest of berries.
I feel a bit like Brett Micheals, (never thought I'd say that!) But really the thorns are part of the juiciest of berries. That's a big deal. I want those juicy berries. I guess that's why I have spent the majority of my life, figuratively at least, pretty well scratched up. I just want those berries and look at the scratches later with a bit of pride and wonder. Some of them turn out to be pretty darn interesting, and like tattoos, our scars tell our story.
So do I want my boys to eat fresh blackberries with me? Duh. Of course I do. They're yummy and nutritious. I can't say for sure if I want them to have a bunch of scratches to review after feasting, but I hope they can grow to appreciate mine and I look forward to knowing what sort of pickers they are.
